


An Ocean And A River

by clutched_light



Category: London Spy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5418167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutched_light/pseuds/clutched_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the last 13 years Alex has been sent a video on his birthday. His 40th birthday is no different</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm going to fix the sadness. Or try to at least. The title is from England by The National.

A heavy cream envelope sits in the middle of his desk, a name written on the front. Every year on his birthday there is a card placed in exactly the same location, filled with variations on platitudes from his colleagues. He supposes that he should be grateful that they take the time despite the fact he rarely talks to any of them and has never attended a single social event in the thirteen years he’s worked alongside them.

Sitting at his desk, he picks up the envelope and examines it, running the tip of one finger across the light texture on the paper, denoting it’s worth. He opens the top desk drawer and removes his letter opener, sliding the metal edge through top seam of the envelope, watching it split clean. The letter opener is replaced in it’s previous position before he slides the card out; blue tones, large words, friendly looking illustrations of balloons and cakes. Dutifully he reads each of the greetings and then props the card on the corner of his desk, where he puts it each year. The card can stay there for a few days until he feels it’s an appropriate time to place it in the recycling bin, where he drops the envelope now. He suspects that the recycling doesn’t really go anywhere near a recycling plant; too risky.

His attention shifts briefly to the clock on the opposite wall. 8.30am. Twelve and a half hours to go. He switches on his laptop and waits as it starts up, eyes flicking towards the card again. There isn’t a number on the card, but then he hardly needs a reminder that he’s forty. Today he feels older than that, tired and stiff from running further and faster than normal. He never sleeps well before his birthday and always goes for a long run to compensate - anticipation is a powerful drug.

A knock against his office door pulls his focus away from the card. “Come in.” He says, loud enough that the person on the other side will hear. Anna opens the door and leans in. “Coffee?” She has a mug in her hand and uses it to gesture with, as though she’s reenforcing her point. It seems unnecessary to him. “Yes, please.” His reply is brief and to the point, but she still smiles to acknowledge the confirmation and closes the door behind her as she leaves. The same interaction every day for thirteen years. At least she knows how he likes his coffee and she’s one of the few people he will allow to prepare the drink for him.

The laptop has started up and he logs in. The password changes every week, following a formula he designed as a little side project. The keypad reads his fingerprints and the built-in camera scans his irises as a failsafe and finally the laptop blossoms fully into life. His emails open automatically and he flicks through them, looking for anything of importance.

There is another knock on the door. Six minutes since Anna asked if he wanted coffee, which means that she is back with his drink. “Come in.” Repeat the process. She enters and brings his mug to him, setting it down on the coaster which has been placed precisely on the desk. “Happy Birthday.” Her smile is as cheerful as ever; somehow she is always positive, capable of a warmth he has never managed, never even been able to imitate. He feels cold and stiff around her. His nod in response to her words seems paltry. “Thank you. Thank you for the card.”

“Are you doing anything?” This is normal social interaction, he reminds himself, exactly what is expected of him.

He shakes his head in response. “I don’t have any plans.”

“Ah, a nice quiet one then, give you a chance to relax.”

“Yes.” Doubtful.

They have the same conversation ever year. She’ll offer to buy him a drink and he’ll politely decline, although he appreciates the offer. However many times he declines, she will still ask him the next time, for after work drinks, to her birthday celebration, suggesting a friend of hers he could go on a date with; an infinite number of chances. Is that simply her nature or is that something she’s been tasked with? Either way his isolation seems to confuse or concern her, he can’t quite tell which. He knows she has a husband, children, siblings and is never in any danger of being alone. That’s something he can’t imagine.

The offer and the decline come and go, as they do ever year, before she leaves him to his work.

His routine rarely wavers and changes only if something urgent comes up so he works until 7pm, just like any other day. He drives the same route home, the headlights of a car in his rearview mirror the whole way. The same car parks behind him as he gets out and goes inside without a glance at the occupants of the other car. After dinner and once the kitchen is clean, he sits down at the dining table, his phone in front of him.

At the exact moment the clock switches from 20:59 to 21:00 his phone buzzes, vibrating loudly against the surface of the table. His hands are trembling as he picks it up and opens the message, following a series of links until he can access a video. He has to put the device down before he can hit play - he’s shaking too hard to see the screen properly.

There is a few seconds of context; the London skyline, today’s date on large screen displaying the news and then the camera focuses on a man with unruly dark hair wearing glasses with thick rims and a slightly dishevelled jumper with a creased shirt underneath. He’s lecturing a group of students. Alex’s hand clamps over his mouth, trying to contain the quiet, wounded sound that rises out of his throat despite his best intentions.

Danny.

Glimpses of his life since the last video flash across the screen, following him through London and out into the countryside, to restaurants and cafes. He’s talking, laughing, kissing. Over the last few years there has been a man featuring more regularly in the videos. Danny seems happy with him, they laugh a lot and kiss, and the last video showed them walking a dog together. The dog reappears, a little larger than before. Danny’s carrying it and clearly talking to the animal as he walks across a bridge.

At exactly five minutes the video ends and a black screen flashes up with white writing: ‘we keep our promises’. This is the fourth video of the year. There will be one more, on Christmas day, and then Alex will have to wait until the spring before they send him anymore.

He hits the play button again and watches the video, noting more details as he does so. There is some grey in Danny’s hair, more visible from a distance than before and from what Alex can see, he’s no longer wearing the usual leather cord around his neck. That detail is oddly disquieting, even though he doesn’t know what is on the end of the cord. Something must have changed, or maybe the cord has simply broken and Danny hasn’t replaced it yet.

Alex watches the video five times before he can pull himself away. After switching off his phone he goes to his bedroom to change into his running gear, folding his clothing and placing it in the laundry basket.

He runs for two hours, until his lungs are bursting and his legs feel so heavy he can hardly keep them moving. After a shower and another change of clothes he lies on his bed, watching the blank ceiling. Although he struggles to sleep he still goes through the motions of getting into bed and lying in the dark every night. His phone is on the bedside table, plugged in and charging. He wants to watch the video again except they will only let him watch it ten times before the file deletes itself and it’s a few months until Christmas; he should pace himself.

Slowly he reaches one hand into the darkness, pushing upwards, feeling the space in front of him. A small part of his mind still expects to find resistance, a unyielding wooden lid pressing down on him. When he wakes in the night and everything is dark and quiet he has to remind himself that he’s not in the chest, in the attic, listening to the muffled sounds of people deciding whether he should live or die.

After a moment he draws his hand back in and turns onto his side, looking at his phone as it sits on the bedside table. His hand moves outwards again, towards the phone this time rather than into nothing and the tips of his fingers gently brush the screen where Danny’s image had been only hours before.

“Goodnight.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex returns to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, guys, Danny is back in the next chapter.

On the face of it there isn’t anything to separate the morning from any other. Alex runs, showers, eats breakfast and begins to get dressed for work. As he’s buttoning up his shirt his phone starts ringing, an unusual event in itself. A brief conversation with his supervisor follows, during which he’s told to stay at home for now as there has been an ‘incident’. Less than thirty seconds later a text from Anna follows, telling him simply to ‘turn on the news’. She’s rarely so succinct with her texts, on the occasion she sends one to him, and Alex feels a creeping sense of unease coiling in his stomach. He continues to get dressed, wanting to finish the task.

Once he’s dressed he goes into the lounge and switches on the tv, scrolling to the most reliable 24 hour news channel. The familiar ‘breaking news’ graphic is splashed across the screen with a scrolling news feed underneath a headline that declares ‘Secret Services Whistleblower’. The news reader is recounting the leaking of hundreds of documents online, relating to assassinations, torture and other questionable acts by various agencies worldwide.

Please don’t be Danny, is Alex’s first thought as he begs and appeals to some higher being he doesn’t believe in. He’s almost weak with relief when a few minutes later the whistleblower is referred to as a woman. 

His phone rings again and this time he’s told to stay away from work for a few days, that a meeting would be arranged soon to discuss everything, but until then he isn’t allowed to come into the office. Alex hangs up the phone and sits back on the sofa, watching the news numbly. He can’t seem to tear his gaze away.

Twenty minutes later he’s jolted out of his passive viewing by the appearance Scottie’s picture on the screen, followed by his own photograph, the one from his photo at the time he met Danny. And then Danny is there as well, the well respected author and lecturer with the tragic past, whose life was almost destroyed by MI6. The focus is mainly on Scottie, killed in his attempts to expose the truth - already he’s being framed as a martyr. Alex gets a grim sense of satisfaction from that; he hopes they find out exactly who was responsible and who gave the order.

His phone keeps ringing throughout the course of the day, so he switches it off. Human rights groups want to talk to him, lawyers, media outlets. He doesn’t really want to know how they got hold of his contact details. A brief search online indicates that mental health and gay rights advocates have picked up on his, Danny and Scottie’s plights in particular, stating that the attacks against all three of them were intrinsically linked to their sexuality and Scottie’s problems with depression and alcohol. Alex has never really thought about it in that way before and he thinks perhaps he owes these people some answers, more than anyone else, but he doesn’t really know what he would say. Before Danny his sexuality was a deeply repressed desire and after Danny he made no attempt to pursue anything sexual or romantic, so he’s never truly felt comfortable claiming to be a gay man.

The only voicemail he returns is from Marcus Shaw, who, with pragmatism, asks him if he’s coming back to London now that everything is out in the open and if Alex wants a job at the university he is working at. They talk for a while without mentioning his ‘death’ and Marcus explains a project he’s working on, probing for Alex’s insight on it. He realises that his old mentor is checking to see whether he still has the abilities he used to, or whether the whole experience has broken him. When he reiterates the offer of the job at the end of the phone call, Alex concludes that he has passed that particular test.

Talking to Marcus unsettles something within him, feelings he’s kept submerged for a long time and he can’t quite name but it feels like he’s coming back to life. He’s been hibernating without realising it and now he’s being forced out into the light. There is someone out there who remembers he’s Alex Turner, remembers his talents and disregards his oddities. There is a life he can resume back in London, even if it’s not the life he’s imagined; the future he imagined with Danny lasted for eight months, thirteen years ago. Too much hurt and too much time has passed for that particular story to continue.

***

“Not your first time in London, is it?”

Alex looks away from the window he’s been staring out of, engrossed in the city, to meet the eyes of the taxi driver in the rear view mirror. He shakes his head, feeling overwhelmed. 

“No. I used to live here.”

“When were you last here?”

“Nearly fourteen years ago.” 

“Well, you’ll find some changes.” The man points out with a chuckle. Alex can’t bring himself to even smile in response. “But other places, you’ll walk down a street and feel like you’ve never left.” That was part of what Alex was afraid of, although he doesn’t say that, he simply nods again.

“You got people to come back to?” A different tack now, the taxi driver making an effort and as with many people who have tried to coax him into conversation he feels sorry for the man. Alex wishes he could reward his efforts. Silence stretches after the question as Alex considers what to say. His thoughts drift to Danny before he dismisses the idea. There is Marcus, but they interact on a purely academic and intellectual level. He knows what the answer should truly be.

“No. No one. Not anymore.” Alex replies, moving his attention back to the city passing by the window of the taxi. 

“Ah well, you’ll soon make new friends.” He wonders how the taxi driver has come to that conclusion although he doesn’t vocalise his scepticism. Mercifully - for both of them, he imagines - they pull up outside the hotel Alex is staying in until he finds his feet. That was the phrase his lawyer had used. The taxi driver unloads his luggage - all those years in America packed into two suitcases and one flight bag. He pays and checks in, and then carefully inspects his rooms - old habits die hard. They’re clean at least, and modern looking. No doubt they will be adequate for however long he’s here. 

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, he looks at his watch, already calibrated to GMT, and notes that it’s early in the morning, edging towards dawn even though his body feels like it’s not past midnight yet. Sleep seems like a pointless exercise so he changes out of the clothes he wore to travel and leaves the hotel to go for a walk. He has no particular destination in mind and he feels like he’s dreaming, an experience exacerbated by jet lag and the strange light just before dawn. 

Weeks and months of interviews, statements and red tape sit behind Alex since the whistleblowers revelations. After such slow progress his return to England seems to have happened too quickly; all of a sudden his lawyer was informing him that he had been cleared to return to the UK if he wished to, that his job with Marcus was there if he wanted it and a healthy chunk of compensation. He considered declining and going somewhere else new, somewhere without all the memories. When it came down to it he couldn’t see himself anywhere but London and the appeal of working with Marcus, of focusing on pure, academic pursuits was too tempting. 

With his thoughts occupied, Alex finds himself walking towards Lambeth Bridge, where he first met Danny. Although he is back in London he knows that he has to let go of his past relationship, of his only friend. There has been no contact between the two of them and Alex will not be the one to initiate; he has caused too much pain already, he won’t bring more to Danny by disrupting the life he has built for himself.

Despite that resolution, he has been composing a letter in his head, one final letter, which he may send to Danny, in time. The letter is an apology, for lying, for bringing him into his world, for all the pain that followed. He owes him that much at least. Once he’s able to send that letter perhaps he can find some peace. 

Still, in the pale light of early morning he can almost imagine that he will find Danny on the bridge, or if he waits long enough, leaning on the railings, Danny will appear at his side. He imagines the moment, the tilt of Danny’s head, the little smile as he says “otherwise, how do you know?”. He allows himself to indulge in such fanciful thoughts as he stands on the bridge and watches the sunrise slowly bringing London back to life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of a reunion is more difficult than the imagined version.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story gets happier. Honestly. TW for panic attacks.

Alex stares at the noticeboard in the staff kitchen, stuffed full of bits of paper and card. There are lists of those people in the building trained in first aid mixed together with calls for participants in research, sponsor forms for charity runs and adverts for cake sales, among many other things. The whole thing is so normal that he can hardly understand what is happening. The kettle clicks off behind him, announcing that the water is boiling hot, and he turns around to pour the water over the mound of ground coffee at the bottom of a small cafetiere.

While it was quite pleasant to have Anna make his coffee every morning in America, he’s enjoying doing it himself, though the slightly chaotic kitchen is already grating on him somewhat. He would like to give it a thorough clean and throw out all the food in the fridge. Out of necessity he’s carved out his own little space in the kitchen, a small oasis of order, and it’s only his third day in the university.

Carefully he balances the cafetiere, a small jug of milk and his mug on a tray and edges his way through the kitchen door, back to the little office Marcus had managed to wrangle for him. Alex feels more at home in the small amount of time he’s spent in the office than the nearly fourteen years he spent in his own house in America. He lets the door close behind him and as he turns he realises that someone is in the corridor in front of him.

He almost drops the tray when he recognises Danny, a little older looking but not that much different than the last time he saw him in the flesh, when they organised to go away for the weekend well over a decade ago. The glasses he sometimes wears in the videos are absent while a maroon knitted jumper is present, so he looks even more like Alex’s version of Danny.

“I was trying to find your office.” Danny explains, faintly. He looks dazed and incredibly pale. “You look the same.”

Alex doesn’t know how to respond to the statement. Instead he crouches down to place the tray on the floor, out of the way, before he actually drops it. Standing up again seems to take a huge amount of effort and his head swims. He reaches out to touch the wall, as though he can steady himself.

“Can you say something to me?” Danny whispers. Alex can feel tears pricking his eyes and blurring his vision as he stares at the other man. But no, he can’t say anything, not a single thing. All he can think is that he wants to touch Danny, he wants to know that he’s here and to shake off this pervading sense of unreality. 

“Do you know how I found out that you were here?” He's not certain Danny wants an answer to that question. “One of my students asked me if I had seen you, in the middle of a lecture, in front of a whole class. One of their friends studies here and had seen you with Marcus. Because everyone knows all about you and me now. Everyone. Except me, apparently. I had no fucking idea you were back in London until a few days ago or that you had starting working here. I was waiting to hear from you. I kept waiting. How stupid is that. I should have know...” He trails off, breathing heavily and then hunches over slightly, pressing a hand to his chest. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Danny turns sharply on his heel and walks back down the corridor, straight towards the men’s toilets which are not far away from the kitchen. The door closes behind him and Alex hears the sound of a stall door slamming shut within the room. It takes him a full minute to move, hesitantly, towards the bathroom and then he steps inside, guiding the door to close quietly after him.

“Danny?” He questions. There is the sound of the toilet flushing and then quiet before the lock slides open and Danny steps out. The distress on his face grips and squeezes at Alex’s insides. This was not how it was supposed to go. Alex was supposed to apologise and explain. Danny walks towards the sinks and begins running the cold water tap, swallowing and spitting out water, and then rubbing his wet hands over his face.

“Do you want me to leave?” The question feels laborious; Alex doesn’t want to say it because he’s scared of what the answer will be, but he doesn’t want to cause Danny anymore distress. Leaving seems like the only thing he can do.

Danny is very still for a moment, the tap still running, before he nods and Alex feels as though the floor has shifted under his feet. He manages to nod in response and briefly catches sight of his own reflection in the mirror behind Danny’s head as he does so. His face is blank and pale. Unreadable. Unknowable.

“Yes. Please. I can’t talk to you right now.” Danny reinforces the answer and Alex nods again in response. Woodenly he turns, feeling as though someone else is guiding his steps, and leaves the bathroom. He walks back through the corridors to his office, coffee long forgotten. All he can think about is Danny’s anguished face.

Carefully closing the door to his office behind him, Alex sits down at his desk and picks up his pen, as though he has simply taken a trip to the bathroom and now he’s going to continue what he was doing for before he left. Except he can’t remember what he was doing before and his hand is shaking, a strange detail he hasn’t noticed until this moment.

He puts the pen down and notices how far away it and his hands seem, small, distant, not connected to him like he’s looking at them down the wrong end of a telescope. Pressing his lips together, he opens both hands and presses them firmly, palms down on the desk, trying to centre himself. He feels a little short of breath and tries to inhale deeply to calm himself down, except he can’t, his chest is constricted, like someone is leaning on him. 

Fear floods through his body, heat breaking out across his skin, pushing beads of sweat through his pores. He can breathe, he tries to tell himself. He can breathe. But all the air seems to be trapped in the upper part of his chest in great heaving gasps that he can’t control. His heart is hammering wildly. Reaching up towards his collar he tugs at the tie there, fumbling to pull it down but whatever he’s doing seems to be making it tighter and harder to loosen. He’s trapped, he’s trapped himself.

Alex can hear someone saying something in the distance. He thinks he might be the person speaking but he’s not sure.

And then another person is there, taking his hand, calling his name. His name. Alex. A cool hand brushes his forehead, a relief against his hot skin. He realises that he’s sitting on the floor, pressed against the wall behind his desk but he doesn’t really remember how he got there. 

“Alex. Alex, are you having a panic attack? Have you had one before?” He manages to make a noise and a movement of some kind which the person seems to take as agreement. “Okay, I need you to just try to breathe a little slower for me, can you try that? Take a breath for me...1...2 and let it out again...1...2.” Alex follows the sound of person’s voice as they slowly count out breaths for him until gradually his breathing starts to even out.

His gaze drifts to the face of the person kneeling next to him, a person he vaguely recognises as as one of Marcus’ PhD student. The man himself is standing behind, watching and waiting, with his phone in one hand. Alex’s head lolls to one side, against the wall and he feels completely drained. Sweat is starting to cool on his skin and he shivers. Marcus walks away and returns with his coat, draping it over Alex without saying a word. The student, Felix - the name comes to him at last - manages to unfasten Alex’s tie and loosens his shirt collar as well. It feels strange to be touched, even in such a brief way.

“I’m going to call you a taxi, Alex. Go home, get some sleep. We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.” Marcus says from his position above him, briefly turning his back as he completes the task. “Ten minutes, out the front of the building. Call me when you arrive home. Can you stay with him, Felix?” As unsentimental as ever, Marcus waits for confirmation from both of them before he leaves the room, and Alex remains huddled under his coat. Felix sits down on his office chair.

“My sister gets panic attacks.” The younger man offers with a smile, offering an explanation for how he knew what to do. “Do you want me to stay?” Alex looks up at him and then shakes his head, slowly. “No. Thank you. I would rather be alone.” The other man nods and gets up. “Well, if you’re sure. I’ll check back on you in a few minutes.” 

Ten minutes passes slowly, interspersed by Felix checking on him, and Alex eventually heaves himself to his feet, rearranging his tie and slipping his coat on. He doesn’t take anything else home with him, other than his phone, wallet and keys. The taxi driver knows where he’s going; all Alex has to do is sink into the back seat of the car and wait until he’s home. Danny must have gone

He tips the taxi driver when he gets out and climbs wearily up to his flat, his thoughts on his bed. For once sleep seems inviting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought we could talk. Properly this time.” Danny speaks first, as he’s always did. Alex struggles to find a response, licking at dry lips. “And I brought some wine with me. I thought it might help us along.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait. And the length of this. I’ll do a more thorough typo check at some point.

The rhythmic beat of his trainers on the ground is as soothing as it’s ever been. Alex’s sleep schedule has never been particularly healthy but since his impromptu meeting with Danny two weeks earlier, his insomnia has been particularly bad. As a result he’s found himself running more frequently, and tonight is no different. Alex loses track of how long he’s been running for but it is dark when he slows to a walk, cooling down, clothing damp and sticking to his skin.

Approaching his building, Alex realises that there is someone sitting outside the front door and for a moment his whole body is tense, wondering who it is and what their purpose could be. The tension doesn’t exactly leave his body but it alters when he draws closer and recognises Danny, the last person he expected to be sitting on his front doorstep. A few days after their run in Alex had plucked up the courage to email Danny his details in case he wanted to try again but he’d hardly expected him to actually respond to the offer.

He forces himself to walk at a normal pace rather than run as his instincts dictate. Alex is almost at the front gate before Danny looks up and notices him; he had been smoking and fiddling with his phone. The cigarette is swiftly stubbed out and Danny stands, picking up a plastic bag as he does so, the contents clanking together in a way that indicates glass bottles. 

Alex opens the gate and steps onto the front path, his eyes fixed on Danny as they walk towards each other until there is barely a metre between them. Alex can’t completely believe Danny is so close to him. This is a moment he has imagined before, in a huge variety of scenarios, but always accepted it was nothing more than an imagined scenario.

“I thought we could talk. Properly this time.” Danny speaks first, as he’s always did. Alex struggles to find a response, licking at dry lips. “And I brought some wine with me. I thought it might help us along.” The contents of the bag are sent to clinking together again when Danny raises the bag slightly to emphasise his point.

Alex wants to agree, with enthusiasm. Instead he just about manages a small, stilted smile accompanied by a nod and fumbles in his pocket for his keys. Danny luckily seems to take his silence as assent and follows him into the building. They get to the front door of his flat before Danny speaks again.

“Do you want me to be here, Alex? Because I can talk until I’m blue in the face but this isn’t going to work if you don’t say anything in return.” Alex can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks, embarrassed by his own behaviour and the way Danny draws attention so directly to it. He continues opening his front door and holds it for the other man to enter, slowly piecing together his response. The fear of saying the wrong thing and scaring Danny off or angering him is paralysing. 

“I don’t know what to say.” Alex confesses, finally, once the door is closed behind them and all the locks secured - there are an excessive amount of them perhaps but they make Alex feel safer. He notices Danny looking at the locks and knows he’s making some kind of judgement about Alex’s life in the intervening years which will no doubt be entirely accurate. “I have imagined talking to you so many times since we were last together. Now I don’t know where to begin.” 

Danny nods, seeming to pause any further questions for now, and Alex thinks he might look slightly relieved. “I understand. I’m feeling the same. Which is why I thought I would help us along with wine.” Danny replies and Alex uses the opportunity to move things forward, feeling he should at least attempt to show Danny he was being proactive. “Shall I get some glasses?”

“Yeah, and a corkscrew. I splashed out.” Danny replies with a light smile that makes Alex’s chest tighten. When they were together Danny had joked more than once about the differences in their upbringings and tastes, and how any wine he bought usually cost under three pounds.

“The lounge is through the door at the end of the corridor. That is probably the best place to talk. You can hang your coat up on the hooks by the front door, if you want.” Alex knows Danny probably doesn’t care all that much about where he puts his coat but he feels he should extend the offer. 

Alex goes into the kitchen and pulls out two glasses and a corkscrew with a heavy wooden handle. He picked the object out amongst a huge range of perhaps unnecessarily high tech corkscrews because he liked the weight of the object and the dark grain of the wood. Now he takes the corkscrew in one hand and carefully picks up the two glasses in the other and then walks into the lounge.

Danny is looking around the room, though there isn’t a huge amount to look at other than the view through the french doors which lead to the balcony and the bookshelves which he is quickly filling up. The space is more to Alex’s taste than either the house he grew up in and the flat he had lived in when they first met. It’s true that Alex prefers unfussy minimalism but not in stark, hard whites and greys. He prefers warmer wooden furniture, neutral colours and small areas of subtle pattern. 

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” Alex asks as he sets both glasses and the corkscrew down on the coffee table. As much as he wants to talk to Danny, he can’t quite imagine doing it in his running gear, still damp with sweat.

“Of course not, take your time. I can amuse myself.” Danny immediately resumes his search of the bookshelves. Alex turns to leave the room and then pauses, looking over his shoulder at Danny, feeling an odd warmth blossoming in his core, watching the man move around his flat, trailing his fingers over every surface he comes into contact with. Whatever happens, he will at least have this memory to return to.

Alex doesn’t waste too much time showering, half convinced that when he returns to the lounge Danny will have left, or perhaps he was never there to begin with, just some invention of his sleep deprived, overly stimulated mind. 

He hurries through drying and dressing in casual clothes he reserves for wearing in the house, reassured by the occasional noise coming from the lounge that indicates Danny’s continued presence. There are similarities to their second meeting, when he brought Danny back to the flat which had never really been his own. Back then he had showered half expecting, half fearing that he was about to have sex for the first time. He had read about situations like that before. Except the other man had walked out of his bedroom, leaving him to get dressed and then they had gone for breakfast. Alex had been rather confused if intrigued, in the end.

This time he is simply worried about what Danny is going to say to him.

A glance in his bathroom mirror show him that his cheeks are slightly flushed from the shower, hair damp and ruffled but he doesn’t want to waste any more time sorting himself out, although he makes a cursory attempt to smooth his hair down. 

When he enters the lounge there is a look in Danny’s eyes which Alex can’t quite read - he’s not at easy to read as before - but he finds the distance between them closes and he thinks he might have made the first move. Hands reach out to grip hold of clothing, mouths pressing together urgently. Thirteen years since he last kissed someone and Alex knows exactly how desperate he must feel to Danny, pressing against him, clinging at his waist and hips. The kiss doesn’t last longer than thirty seconds and it’s Danny who halts the kiss, resting his forehead against Alex’s so they draw shuddering breaths from the same air. Then Danny is stepping backwards and resettling his clothing.

Alex feels bereft and cold, standing in the middle of the room, his hands hanging limply at his sides. There is a drawn out silence and then Danny gives a brief, awkward laugh. “I suppose that was almost inevitable.” Alex thinks that he is probably supposed to laugh as well and agree except he can’t do either of those things.

Danny’s smile fades and he reaches out to take hold of Alex’s hand, drawing him towards the couch. “You keep looking at me like I scare you.” Danny says softly, as he sits down and encourages Alex to sit near him, which he does, obediently. A glass is pressed into his hands and he automatically sniffs and then sips the dark liquid. The wine is good, Danny has clearly developed a taste for wine.

“Are you? Scared of me?” The question startles him and he lowers the wine glass quickly, eyes darting to meet Danny’s gaze, which is apprehensive.

“Why would you scare me? If anyone should be scared, it should be you. I ruined your life.” Alex replies, the words leaving him in an uncharacteristic rush. 

“Ah.” Danny’s response is knowing and Alex isn’t quite sure what it means. “You didn’t ruin my life, Alex. The people who ‘ruined’ my life were the ones who faked your death, killed Scottie and convinced me that I had HIV. It was their doing, not yours and not mine.”

Alex feels as though he should be relieved but all he feels is a horrible sense of guilt and shame, bearing down on him. “I drew you into my world without ever telling you what that world was. It was my project. I knew they wouldn’t let me carry on for long and I still kept going. I brought this on both of us and on Scottie.” His hands are tight around the wine glass and he wonders if it will shatter under the pressure. “I’m sorry that you met me. I’m sorry I was so selfish. I didn’t want to give you up, I couldn’t.”

“Alex, we were victims in this, you just as much as anyone. I read the reports that were published. I know what they did to you in that room, I know what they’ve done to you since then...” Danny trails off. “Well, I guess we both know and I don’t see any point in raking over it all again, unless you want to talk about what happened.” 

The last thing Alex wants to do is go over everything that has happened to him, not yet, at least. His body is thrumming with tension in response to Danny’s words and he wonders if he’s on the verge of a panic attack. Danny knows how he stopped breathing in the trunk, how they chose to resuscitate him and everything else that they did to him that night, and afterwards. Alex had known the information was out there, he had just never banked on Danny reading it in such depth, but in retrospect he should have realised what would happen.

A hand covers his again and squeezes gently. “My life isn’t ruined.” Danny explains, his thumb stroking over Alex’s skin soothingly. “Not by a long shot. I’m happy, most of the time. It’s taken a long time to get to this point, but I have a good life.” Alex can’t look at him - fourteen years of guilt can’t be squashed with a few words, even from Danny - and drinks a large mouthful of wine instead. Not his usual method of consuming decent wine but he needs something to help him through these moments.

“I... knew you were okay. Alive, at least.” Alex confesses and studies his hands as he speaks. “They sent me videos, just short ones. I didn’t know many of the details, I saw you travelled, went to university, became a lecturer. They let me go to the first five minutes of one of your lectures when you were in America a few years ago. That was part of the deal. I go to America, work for them, you live and they send me evidence that you are alive and well.”

Danny nods, not looking particularly perturbed by that piece of information. “You knew about the videos.” Alex states, looking closely at Danny.

“Yes, it was part of the formal apology I was given.” Danny says, a trace of an ironic smile on his lips. “An apology seems so inadequate but I suppose there isn’t much else that can be said. All that time spent mourning you, everything I went through and it fits onto an A4 piece of paper that was probably not even seen by the people responsible.” He sounds bitter, briefly and drinks some of the wine.

Alex reaches out tentatively to touch Danny’s hand, though he only maintains the contact for a few fleeting seconds. “I’m sorry for my part in it. I wanted to come back to you. I wanted to. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Danny looks at him sadly for a long moment and Alex struggles to maintain eye contact, feeling wretched. The other man reaches out to run the tip of his fingers down his cheekbones and over the line of his nose. Alex closes his eyes, absorbing the feel of Danny’s skin against his. 

“When you were dead. When I thought you were dead, I mean. There were so many things I wanted to tell you, so many things I wanted you to experience with me. Now I’m having this strange experience where these things keep popping up in my mind and I realise that I can tell you them, now.” Danny’s hand dropped away and Alex opened his eyes, feeling calmer somehow. “I still can’t wrap my head my head around the fact that you’re alive.”

“I still can’t believe that you are here, in front of me.” Alex replied, though it was something of an understatement. He thinks both of them were understating their emotions, but there was very little precedent for the situation they now found themselves in. “I used to write to you. About what I was doing, how I was feeling. The lives that I imagined for the two of us, if things had been... different.”

“What did you do with them?” Danny asks, and there is so much tenderness in his voice and expression that Alex feels close to tears. To give himself a moment of control he drinks some more wine before he answers. “I kept them. Not all of them but I kept a lot from the first year and the last. Some from the years in between as well.”

“I’d like to read them at some point if you’re okay with showing them to me.” Danny sounds a little tentative but so sincere that Alex wants to jump up and grab the folder of letters from his desk drawer straight away. “Yes, of course. I could give them to you. Later.”

Danny nods and drains the rest of his wine glass. In the process he seems to decide that a change of subject is necessary.

“I have a more important question, though.” Alex nods, waiting, apprehensive. “Do you want order some food? I’m starving.”

****

Alex wakes slowly, squinting his eyes against the unnatural light in his room. He’s quick to realise that he’s on his sofa, the light coming in through the large windows in the lounge, the blinds still open from last night. He must have fallen asleep sometime after the food and he had to wonder how long Danny had stayed before he’d settled Alex in for the night.

Lifting a hand to rub across his face, Alex looks around, noticing that he’s been covered with his duvet and he’s resting his head on two of the pillows from his bed. The wine and food from last night has seemingly been cleaned away and Alex once again has to convince himself that he didn’t imagine Danny’s presence last night.

The flat is quiet, which indicates that Danny has left already. Pushing back the duvet covers, Alex stands up, stretching his limbs which are slightly cramped from the night on the sofa. Padding softly into the kitchen in search of coffee, he finds one of the wine bottles, half full and resealed on the counter. A piece of paper sits on the counter below it, Danny’s handwriting scrawled across it.

Alex reaches out and picks it up, feeling as though the ripped off bit of paper is indescribably precious. There is a phone number written at the top and a few words underneath.

_I thought I’d let you sleep. Let me know if you want to meet up again soon. Danny x_

So the ball has been firmly placed in his court, leaving it up to him whether they keep talking. Alex knows the answer already. He goes to find his phone and types Danny’s name and number into the contacts, although in truth he’s already memorised the number. 

Opening up a new message, Alex mulls over what to type for a good five minutes before he finally simply writes: _Thank you. A._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For of all sad words of tongue or pen,  
> The saddest are these: "It might have been!"  
> \- John Greenleaf Whittier

The sand shifts beneath the soles of Alex’s boots, tipping him slightly to one side, his arm brushing briefly against Danny’s as his weight is transferred towards his walking companion. Alex smiles apologetically and widens his next step to put distance between himself and the other man. Danny smiles back and reaches out to grab hold of the sleeve of Alex’s waterproof jacket, tugging him back over again. Danny releases the hold on his sleeve but Alex stays where he is, pathetically grateful that he’s been given permission to stay close to Danny.

“I normally stop around here.” Danny explains after a few minutes of walking in silence.

Alex looks up and notes the curve of the bay ahead of them and the lines of groynes marching out into the sea. Danny has chosen well. He nods and stops, tugging off his rucksack. “The tea should still be hot.”

The air is cold and fresh, a bright sun bathing their surroundings in golden light but adding little warmth to the day. It won’t do either of them good to sit still for too long. Still, Alex sits down on the sand and unzips his rucksack, pulling out a large thermos. There are two mugs screwed on top so they’re not forced to share, an act that seems to intimate now, somehow.

Handing both cups to Danny once he sits next to him, Alex is careful not to spill any of the liquid as he pours tea into the cups. Steam spirals into the air, mingling with their breath. 

“Did you make this with loose leaf tea in a teapot and then pour it into a thermos?” Danny asks. He looks amused which is something of a relief. To Alex it seems logical to make a thermos of tea in that way, if one wants the best tasting tea however he’s aware that it’s not behaviour that would be classed as normal. Danny has always seemed to find his oddities more endearing and amusing than grating and strange, like most people.

“Of course.” Alex replies. “Loose leaf tastes better than teabags.”

“How did you manage in America?”

“I drank coffee, mostly.” Alex replies, his tentative smile broadens as Danny laughs. He enjoys making Danny laugh, particularly as he’s not the kind of person who normally amuses people. The laugher lines around Danny's eyes are as endearing as ever. “Actually the tea isn’t that bad over there, once you know where to go and what to ask for.”

"What did you do? In America? Other than drink coffee, of course." The question takes him aback although it probably shouldn't; Danny always was very curious. Alex considers the question as he watches the ceaseless movement of waves across the sea. His time in America already feels distant, more of a dream than a life lived, and he can't recall it in great detail. He feels as though he was hibernating for all those years and he's starting to wake up, his emotions not quite under his control. Everything still feels too bright, too strong, too raw.

"What I do now, I suppose." Alex replies, finally, ponderously. "I went to work, came home again, read books, ran, went for walks in the countryside. I taught myself how to take photographs and process the film. They allowed me to do that." He pauses, remembering all the things he was restricted from doing and then tries to focus on the moment instead, the sound of the distant sea and the warmth of Danny sitting at his side.

“Did you bring any of your photographs back with you?”

“Some. I have a box of them. I haven’t used the camera since I left America.”

“I’d like to see some of the photographs, when you’re ready.”

“I’ll show you, when you next come to visit.” He assumes - hopes - that there will be a next time for the two of them. 

“What about friends? Relationships?" Alex blinks, taken aback by the sudden change of direction, and turns to look at Danny, curious that he’s asking a question he must surely know the answer to. 

"No." Alex replies briefly. "Nothing like that. There was a woman at my office, Anna, she was a PA. She used to encourage me to join in with social activities but I never did. I have never been very good at socialising." Such a fact hardly needs to be stated, no doubt Danny would remember.

"So you haven't dated anyone since...?" Danny's hand gestures between the two of them and Alex can feel the heat in his cheeks, embarrassed even though he knows that Danny won’t judge him.

“I tried to go on a date, once. It didn’t go very well.”

“I’m sorry.” For a moment he thinks Danny is going to say more but he doesn’t. Perhaps he remembers the conversation they had once, Alex in the bath, Danny sat next to it. Always out of step. The statement seems truer now than ever.

“Thank you.”

 _I kept thinking about you._ Those are the words Alex wants to say and they are true, though not the only reason his one and only date in fourteen years was so awful. Instead of saying what is on his mind, he sips some of his tea and looks out across the beach.

"Can I ask you something?" Alex nods immediately. "Just after I thought you’d died, they sent an escort to meet me. He said he was a waiter and he met you in the restaurant where we had breakfast, the first time, do you remember?" He doesn't really give Alex a chance to answer either way, ploughing on. The answer would have been yes, of course he remembered.

"He said he told you about his paintings and took you back to his flat, and then you had sex. I never found out if that was another lie. I forgot to ask, if I’m honest." Danny doesn't look at him as he asks the question. Even after all this time the story still seems to carry a sting and the pain inside Alex’s chest swells in response. "It made sense, when I thought back, about how you said you didn't believe in soulmates and when I suggested we see other people you were so upset, it was the first time I had seen you cry, I thought maybe it was because of the guilt, because you'd already slept with someone else."

Another secret to unravel. “I didn’t sleep with him.” Alex blurts out immediately, desperate to reassure Danny that there was no cheating. “I didn’t have sex with him. I didn’t even kiss him.” He pauses and takes a breath, trying to regain control over himself and explain the situation. The dull ache of guilt is increasing, crushing his throat. He pushes on, desperate not to hide from Danny anymore. “I did go back to his place and looked at his paintings. I thought about sleeping with him. I suppose I was... curious, I suppose. I’ve never been so ashamed of myself, and then not long after it happened, you suggested that I experiment with other men. You were so concerned for me, and I had almost....”

Alex swallowed a mouthful of tea, trying to soothe the dryness of his throat, before continuing his explanation. “I didn’t have any intention of sleeping with him after I left, but I also ran a background check on him, just to be sure, and his history didn’t quite add up. There were discrepancies in his finances, very subtle. I had heard rumours about the escort agency, what they did. In truth, that‘s what I thought you were to begin with, until I ran the check and could see that you were who you said you were.”

“I wish you’d told me the truth, back then. I would have told you that none of it mattered. That I love you.” Danny’s voice is subdued. “I wanted to tell you all of that so badly afterwards.” 

“I know, I should have told you. I was ashamed and scared to lose you. There were so many other lies that I had told you by that point, I didn’t know how to unravel one from the other.”

“I can understand most of it, you know, particularly the job, of course you couldn’t tell me about that. And the rest of it, the more lies I uncovered and then the truths that followed, I could see the logic behind the lies. I said it to your... to Frances. I can see why he said you were dead.” There is a flicker of a sad smile from Danny, and Alex wishes he could remove that sadness forever. He wishes that he knew how.

“I owed her another fifteen months. As part of our agreement, and then I would be free. I didn’t intend on seeing Frances or Charles again. I wanted nothing more to do with them.” Even after all these years and with both of them long dead he can hear the hardness in his voice, the chill in the centre of his chest when he thinks about his parents. He remembers the cold house, his father’s absence and his mother’s presence, always over his shoulder, always watching. “I thought, naively, so naively, that I could persuade you to go somewhere with me. Scotland, maybe, or Finland, or Iceland. I imagined somewhere cold, and a small house, all to ourselves.”

“I would have gone. If you’d asked. I would have gone with you.” Alex closes his eyes when he hears Danny’s reply, almost wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. For a brief second all those possible lives they could have lived together open up in front of him. Lazy Sundays in bed, cooking together in the evening after work, arguing over the chores. If only. If only.

There doesn’t seem to be any adequate reply to what Danny has said, so Alex tips out the last dregs of his tea and then wipes out the inside with a tissue so any lingering liquid doesn’t drip down the side of the thermos. “Shall we head back?” He suggests and holds his hand out for Danny’s cup, giving it the same treatment. The thermos goes back into his bag and he slips the tissue into a small plastic bin liner which has it’s own separate pocket in his bag. He hates littering.

“Yeah, probably a good idea. I can’t feel my legs properly anymore.” Danny says, lightly, getting to his feet, as sprightly as ever. All at once he seems to be banishing the gloomy mood they have found themselves in.

Neither of them speaks as they walk back towards Alex’s car. Perhaps talking about the past is dangerous for them. All that remains are reminders of what they can never have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a relatively short update but there is more to come soon. Sorry for the delay!
> 
> FYI: what I was listening to while writing: https://youtu.be/FFxiAEv8IXE


End file.
